Things I Can't Say
by kialajaray
Summary: Helga had always been better at writing than she ever could be at talking


**this is something that i thought of one day to write b/c i listen to unrequited love songs to much. even though the words arent up here it's kind of a song fic for things i'll never say by avril lavinge. hope yall like it.**

summary: Helga had always been better and writing than she ever could be at talking.

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Seventeen year old Helga Pataki sighed as she put the light pink pen in her hand onto the paper

Seventeen year old Helga Pataki sighed as she put the light pink pen that was in her hand onto the paper. She had been in this position for the past three hours. How hard could it be to write a letter? It was something that they taught you how to do in elementary. She was a senior in high school for goodness sake.

It wasn't like she didn't know what to write. Lord knew that wasn't the problem. Add in the fact that she was president of the literarily club in her high school, it wasn't that she didn't know _how_ to write what she wanted.

She sighed again.

The problem was that if she wrote down what she wanted to, that would make everything more real, she knew that it would. She made a sound of frustration as she jerked her hand threw her long light blonde hair. Nothing was going to change until she started writing.

Taking a deep breath, she began to write.

_Dear Arnold,_

_Since whenever I'm around you my ability to speak what I really feel always seems to fail me, I've decided to write you a letter since writing has always come easier to me. By the way that I act, I know that you don't realize this, and I know that this will come as a surprise to you, but I feel that you should know._

_Whenever I see you, I start to fiddle with my clothes, or pull at my hair, trying to make sure that I look my best for you. I try to act like your presence doesn't bother me, but I get afraid that everyone will notice that I get tongue tied around you, so I insult you instead. _

_But instead of insulting me back like I know I deserve, you continue to treat me as a friend. Only an idiot would be crazy enough not to fall for you. While Lila may be sweet, and all the boys' (including yours) dream girl, I can't see how she can be so prefect if she can ignore how much you have adored her since P.S 118. _

_But I don't want to talk about Lila. For years, I've prayed that you hadn't or wouldn't notice how I would look at my feet and blush when you gave me a compliment. Whether it be about being a good pitcher, or congratulating me when I won the state poetry contest._

_You always looked past my threats and my stand offish behavior as if you knew that there was a different person inside that I refused to let anyone see. I try to tell you how much that means to me. How much you mean to me. But every time I try, my tongue gets tied and I get nervous. I always say that the time wasn't right. I want to be perfect for you, it's useless I know, but I know that you're worth all my efforts._

_So, I'm writing you the words that I can not speak. But if I could, you would be astounded at what I would tell you. I would tell you that I want to be the one girl that you won't ever forget. The one you go to sleep thinking about, the one you dream about, and the one you wake up for. I want to be the girl you would give up everything for. I want to be the girl who makes you rethink everything you thought you ever knew. In short Arnold, I want to be the girl who blows you away. More than Lila ever could._

_I want to be with you everyday and night for the rest of our lives. I want to be able to hold you so much that you have to tell me that you can't breathe. You can't imagine how many times I've envisioned you going down on one knee, asking me to marry you at that very moment. _

_But I know that all these wants and wishes won't change anything unless I get the courage to let you know everything that I could never say to you._

_For years, I've known that keeping all of this inside me wasn't helping push you and me together. If I never tell you, what good is any of this to you, or me for that matter? We'll never even have a chance to be together if I don't do something to let you know how I feel. So many people would ask why haven't I just told you how I felt. But like I have already stated, you're perfect, to me anyway. And honestly that's all that matters. I can't just blurt it out like I did when we were kids on the rooftop. It has to be prefect, you deserve no less. _

_When I have tried to tell you how I felt, my tongue no longer belongs to me. I can't control the insults I give you to cover up how I really feel. The moment I say them, I want to kick myself. The words I feel inside me get stuck in my throat before they can reach you. And even when I get far enough to tell you a few words, I start to stutter and trip over my words. By then, I'm so mortified, I'm too afraid that you'll run away. So once again, I keep it to myself. Hoping that the right moment will come one day._

_If you haven't been able to tell, what I'm really trying to tell you is that, I, Helga Geraldine Pataki, am in love with you._

_Forever yours,_

_Helga._

Helga sighed and put the pen down. She finally was able to write a portion of what she felt for Arnold on the paper. The hard part was over. Taking a crisp white envelope out of her desk drawer, she folded the letter up and started to put the letter inside.

"What am I thinking," she asked herself out loud. "He'll never feel the same about me."

Crumbling the paper in her hands, she threw it in the wastebasket next to her chair. Getting up, she gave one last glance to the paper. Feeling a gust of wind, she remembered all of the outrageous things that she had done in the past in prevent Arnold from finding out her secret.

Taking the letter out of the trash, she smoothed it out as best she could. Reading it for the last time, she shook her head and smiled sadly as she sat back down and scratched out the places where she had put their names. Then, she ran white out across it. Finally, she tore the paper in two, then four, then, eight, then sixteen. By then, the paper was too thick to tear, so she separated it and tore each piece apart until she had lost track of how many pieces there were.

Taking all the little pieces, she put them back into her wastebasket. You could never be too careful.

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**yes i no, it can't end like that. but it did. i always write things that ppl end up together, but i think that i'm going to leave this the way it is. so not continuation. i hope yall like it and i'm going to be putting up another one soon.**

**kialajaray**


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